


Y Is For You And I

by mydogwatson



Series: A Baker Street Alphabet [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Old Age, The End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All lives end.  All hearts are broken.  But life well lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Y Is For You And I

**Author's Note:**

> On one hand, I am sorry. On the other, I think it had to be written. At least, I had to write it. So please forgive me. And tomorrow's final story wraps it all up.

None shall part us from each other,  
One in life and death are we;  
All in all to one another---  
I to thee and thou to me.  
-W.S. Gilbert

 

Sherlock did not sleep at all on the last night. He merely lay awake through all the dark hours with John in his arms, listening to the increasingly shallow sound of his husband’s breathing. Still, the night seemed to go by much too quickly and now a faint morning light was beginning to creep into the room.

He cursed the dawn.

It was not long before John shifted minutely and opened his eyes.  
Eyes that had over the past week gone slightly hazy. But they brightened just a little when they saw Sherlock’s face so close. John smiled slowly. “Morning,” he said in the newly familiar whisper that was now all he had the energy for.

“Good morning, love,” Sherlock rumbled back, although he knew with a certainty that could neither be explained nor denied that there was going to be absolutely nothing good about this day at all. There was only inevitability.

This ordinary Tuesday was the day that he had been dreading for nearly sixty years.

There had been no dramatic change, no sudden decline. John Watson, after fighting off death so many times and in so many ways over the years, was now just fading away. There was no fighting this. Sherlock knew, had known for several weeks now, that the end was coming. Of course, he knew. How could he not know that his heart and his soul were slipping beyond his reach?

His arms tightened just a bit on the frail body, as if he could keep the inevitable from happening. Or at least from happening right now.

Just another day. Today. This was all he had left. So many years and it was still not enough. But he also knew that it would never be enough, not if the decades were centuries.  
John knew, of course, what he was thinking. John always knew. He pressed a brief kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. “It’s fine,” he murmured.

Well, it wasn’t. It really wasn’t fine at all.

Sherlock heard the door to their cottage open, but didn’t move until he was sure that the tea would have been made. Then he carefully disentangled himself from John and the quilt. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Maybe you’ll have some tea with me this morning.”

John made no promise.

The hospice visitor was still in the kitchen. “Hello, Mr. Holmes,” she said cheerfully. She was always cheerful; it was undoubtedly a job requirement.

“Ms. Rodgers,” he acknowledged. Now he had to put it into words and that made it somehow more real. More dreadful. “I do not believe that your services will be required today.”

She looked surprised. “But---”

Sherlock only shook his head. He gazed past her, looking through the window out to where his beehives still flourished, although no longer under his care. Soon there would be nothing left that he could care for. “Please,” he said softly, still not looking at her. “There is nothing for you to do. I---we---would rather be alone today.”

And because she was good at her job, she understood. Even though she had to be accustomed to such moments, a brief sadness crossed her face. She liked John, of course; everyone always liked John. “All right,” she said. “If there is anything---”

“All arrangements have been made, but thank you.”

When she was gone, Sherlock took one cup of tea back to the bedroom, managing not to spill any en route, which these days was not a given. Carefully, he arranged himself beside John again.

“Are we alone?”

“Yes. Perfectly alone.”

John gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Good.”

Sherlock tasted the tea. “Oh, very nice.” He smiled. “Not as good as the tea you made for me, of course.”  
“Of course. You always preferred the tea I made. Could never understand why.”

Sherlock raised one shoulder in a minute shrug. “Because you made it for me.”

“Really? Just that?”

Sherlock smiled. “What better reason? Will you have a little?”

John frowned.

Sherlock dipped one finger into the cup and then held it to John’s lips.

A tongue tip appeared and licked at the finger.

“I was remembering,” John said then.

“What?”

“Moments. Life is just moments, right?”

“Good moments, I hope?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t waste time today on the bad ones, would I?”

At any other time, he might have urged John to save his strength. But that no longer mattered and this conversation mattered very much.

John was patting Sherlock’s chest with a touch that was as light as a butterfly landing there. “I was remembering when you winked at me in the lab that day. God...you were so beautiful.”

“Were?” Sherlock teased lightly. “So all my charms have faded with age?”

The resulting giggle ended in a gasp for breath. John met his gaze more firmly than he had in days. “Sherlock Holmes, you are still the most beautiful creature on this planet.”

Sherlock sipped more tea and then wet his finger again. The tongue moved more slowly this time. “You are biased in that regard. And it must be said that I have a different opinion regarding who is beautiful.”

John just nodded. He rested his head against Sherlock’s chest. After a moment, he smiled. “I hear it,” he said so faintly that Sherlock could barely make out the words. “I hear the heart of the man who wasn’t supposed to have one.”

Sherlock huffed. He set the cup aside and wrapped both arms around John again. John sighed. There was a faint rattle in his breath now.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

It was nearly twenty minutes before either of them spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” John breathed.

“Sorry for what, John?”

“I promised never to leave you.”

Sherlock could not open his eyes. “You are not leaving me,” he said quietly. “You are just walking two steps ahead. I am following you, as ever.”

Everyone always thought that John was the follower. Not for the first time, everyone was wrong. So very wrong. It was always John who lit the path, who showed the way.

Sherlock had no real faith in anything but science, himself, and John Watson. But still, in some deep part of his mind, he believed that he would see John again. Not because of any all-powerful deity or a place above the clouds called heaven. Nothing so foolish as that. Sherlock was utterly convinced that he would see John again simply because their bond was too strong to be broken, even by death.

“I will miss you,” John said.

“And I you.”

“Tell me, please.”

He rested his head on John’s. “I love you, John.”

“Love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“I’m a bit…tired. Think I’ll rest for a bit.”

“Good idea, John. You just rest for a bit.” Sherlock knew that tears were coursing down his face, but it did not matter at all. He pressed his lips against John’s.

*

It was just over two hours later when he felt the last breath leave John’s body. Still Sherlock did not move.

He knew that before very long Mrs. Howe would be coming in as she did every day to leave their dinner and tidy a little. None of which would be necessary today, of course.

But there were things to be done, calls to be made.

Until then, Sherlock would stay exactly as he was, holding John, embracing his heart and his soul, because what would he be once those things were gone?

 

fini


End file.
